


Chapped Bliss

by orphan_account



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: After jacob's region is finished, Cigarettes, F/M, Lots of healing, Lots of sweet stuff, Poignant, Relationship Development, The both need some water, Weed, community care or smth smth, its SO sweet be prepared, its a little angsty tho, its just kind of nice to read, lots of smooching, mentions of the horrible things jacob was going to do to staci, no nudity this time lol, nothing really happens, still mention of staci's muscles ofc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26131108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Both of them are dehydrated and kind of astounded they get to see each other. My OC Deputy Crycry finally sees Pratt for the first time after saving him from the bunker. It's been barely a day. It's night time and Pratt is dragging Wheaty above ground for a cigarette. They find Crycry right outside the door, and she takes over smoke break duty for Wheaty, who returns to the bunker.
Relationships: Female Deputy | Judge/Staci Pratt, Staci Pratt/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Chapped Bliss

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks yall :) I really love these two together! I'm once again begging you for feedback.

In the darkness, a sliver of sickly pale light flickers and grows as Deputy Staci Pratt pushes open the doors to the bunker. And when they fall completely open, they shudder deeply and loudly in the quietness of the dimly glowing dome. The sphere of light fades at the edges where it spreads yards from the entrance of the Wolf Den. In grey hiking boots, just past the doors in a pile of pine needles, the Junior Deputy Crycry stands as still as a statue. Her silhouette is as dark as the rest of her perfectly silken waterfall of Micronesian hair. Which is slightly textured from the past two days Crycry tied it up in a bun on the top of her head, but now it hangs down loose to make room for the sheriff’s cowboy hat. Her left hand is being chewed up by perfectly straight white teeth. Her right arm sticks out of the front pocket of her black denim short shorts. Her dark green uniform flashes at the badge on her left breast, just like Pratt in his own uniform. Crycry could only be discerned by her shadowy five foot frame against the pale glimmer and the silver flash that reflects against her badge. Wheaty stands in his own green shirt two steps behind Pratt with his hands on the railings of the stairwell, still unsure about following Pratt up for a cigarette. It’s dangerous outside, after all. Crycry’s absenteeism can explain why Pratt would ask Wheaty to come outside and smoke instead of Crycry.  
All of the other Whitetail Militia members sleep inside. Most of the lights are turned off. Wheaty is an anomaly. Always up fiddling around with vinyl records and tuning his radio station and cleaning his weapon. His perfect brown fingers that twirl vinyls around are currently relaxing and smooth against the chipped paint of the railing, which matches the chipped pain of the airplane panels that line the Wolf Den. Wheaty was quietly shifting his gaze between the two rangers. Crycry’s own brown eyes strain against a sea of wrinkles and shadows to pick out the outline of a cigarette package inside Wheaty’s shirt pocket. The smell of stale tobacco is the last thing Wheaty needs following him around.  
“Come with me, Pratty,” Crycry says. These are the first words she’s spoken to him since they were screaming their throats raw inside of Jacob’s collapsing bunker. Their legs burning just as hot from flights and flights of stairs and wave after wave of gunfire, molotovs, and explosives.  
Wheaty raises his smooth artist's hands in surrender. His eyebrows rise too. He offers his goodnight, and sinks back into the bubbling darkness of the Wolf Den. Wheaty moves like an empty cup falling into a bath. Slowly, water spills past the lip and then swallows up the whole thing.  
Crycry takes the hand she is chewing on and grabs Pratt by the shoulder. The tips of his jet black shoulder length hair brushes against her finger tips. Staci’s muscles beneath her hand turn to jelly. She pulls back, bringing him all the way into the forest. He’s having trouble thinking. His heartbeat accelerates, but he’s so very still. He doesn’t notice when Crycry walks behind him to close the doors to the Wolf Den, but he hears the muffled bang. She tries to close it quietly, just as quietly as she can close the blast-proof bunker doors.  
At the top of the hill on the flat concrete helicopter pad, Crycry slows down, and Pratt walks past her. He parks himself in the middle of the concrete clearing. He bends at the knees and his legs strain against the black denim of his pants. His hands are dry and callused. Pratt’s elbows are covered with dead thick peeling skin that break into smaller patches when he bends his arms to sails down slowly to the ground. The summer air is cool tonight. When Staci licks his chapped lips, the breeze chills his drying spit. His face cracks into a smile when the cigarettes appear in Crycry’s hands. She approaches him with a bored expression save the hard stares she gives to her partner. She thumbs the top off and lets Pratt pull out a stick. The thick calluses on his thumb scrapes almost silently against the lighter, but the spark doesn’t catch. He clutches the body of the lighter with his other hand. Several tries later, Pratt embodies frustration. Tense shoulders rise up past the ends of his hair to his earlobes. All of his muscles are engaged, and he squints down at his failing hands. He holds on to the lighter like the only thing keeping him from floating away in a breeze that’s a little too strong. His expression turns to agony and surprise when Crycry clutches his hands in hers. She leads him silently in a few deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Until Staci joins in. The jagged cliff face behind them and the rest of the region in front of them is invisible. The helipad is barely bright enough to see the little blue cones that surround the clearing with the giant white H in a white circle. It’s too dark to see Crycry’s coconut colored cheeks flood with blood, but Pratt visibly blushes. He sighs when she holds his hands tighter and moves her thumb to swipe down on the lighter. A tiny whoosh explodes from the lighter as a fire appears out of thin air, bathing the two rangers in the gentlest yellow light. Crycry can see now that his sheepish doe eyes are red from crying so hard he ran right out of tears. His nose is swollen and twice broken. The moon isn’t up there, but it’s between them.  
“Thank you,” Staci says. His voice smells sour.  
Crycry’s gaze strokes his hair, and Crycry takes her hands away, so Pratt holds the flame. She pulls a cigarette from the pack on the ground next to where they sit now. She sticks it into his grinning mouth, then takes a joint she had in her own shirt pocket and sticks it in her own mouth. She leans forward in tandem with Pratt and they light their cigarettes on the flame together. Her hands end up wrapped around his again. Neither ranger coughs. Crycry’s mind moves like molasses. Inhale and exhale. Inhale and exhale without really breathing. She can only stare without processing. She feels like she’s lightheaded. Her palms and forehead sweat and they’re starting to get cold. She can feel glue coating her mouth and throat, and she can’t breathe well at all.  
“If you need to cry, then you need to cry. If you still can feel, don’t stop yourself.”  
Staci glares at her audacity. Crycry had never cried in front of anyone in Hope County besides Pastor Jerome, her found father. What gave her the right to police Pratt’s emotional management skills.  
“You need to feel it or you won’t process any feelings again the same.” Crycry now stops staring at him and bores black holes into the clear evening sky above them. Even the moon was too scared to come out tonight.  
“I don’t deserve it.” Pratt whispers and then shudders. “I can’t be trusted with feelings. I’m too weak.”  
“Staci,” Crycry starts, but then stops. She and Pratt take some more deep breaths together. Five seconds in. Hold for two seconds. Three seconds out. And again. “You deserve everything good that you can get. Everything good that I will give to you. What Jacob was going to do to you is beyond anything someone would deserve. You are not weak. You’re strong as fuck to have survived what was done to you. Nobody is so weak they need to be culled. Jacob’s alpha male bullshit is not compatible with reality. We can’t live like that.” Crycry is stroking Pratt’s hair for real now. Pratt moves his head so his cheek falls into her palm. He closes his eyes shut and breathes for a while on his own. Crycry sees him struggle with what he’s feeling. Thank god he can still feel things. Crycry takes a long drag to punctuate her point, and blows the smoke into the darkness above them. The cloud quickly disappears and is replaced by another from Staci’s own cigarette.  
“I love you,” Staci proclaims, somewhat frantically. He sounds like he isn’t getting the words out fast enough. The next words come out even faster. “I never thought I’d see you again. That after we got out of the bunker, I thought you’d stay with me. But you left.” A few deep breaths. Pratt’s entire body expands and shrinks in tandem with his lungs as he still rests in Crycry’s statuesque hand. “I want to matter to you.” Staci stares back at her. The air is definitely harder to breathe. Puppy dog eyes meet with a statue’s.  
“You’re precious,” Crycry nods simply. Gently, when Pratt closes his eyes, she moves her hand and pulls his face closer. At the same time, she moves forward to press her own chapped lips against his. The feeling is dry yet wet. The insides of their months are warm. They swallow up the words that are left unsaid. They consume the metaphors and hands begin to wander. In hair, on jawlines, across napes, squeezing, pushing and pulling. All the cages are unlocked. All the walls have been demolished. There isn’t anything between them that isn’t fully understood and accepted.  
“I love you,” Crycry practically whines. She’s panting.  
An hour later, their blunt and cigarette now relit, they laid flat and watched stars tumble across the sky.  
“Wheaty had nothing to be worried about,” Crycry says with a slurred voice.  
This get’s Staci’s attention. He turns to his side and looks with effortlessly wide-eyed curiosity.  
“Wheaty was worried?”  
“Of course he was. Why do you think he actually was going to leave the bunker to join you to smoke a goddamn cigarette. Wheaty quit cigarettes, because going outside scares him, bit this is your first time out of the bunker, and Wheaty’s deprogramming disk has never been experimented on Jacob’s second in command.”  
Staci’s eyebrows scrunch. It surprises Staci to hear just how much power he commanded. Probably because the entity that maintained his power was the same that planted a bomb in his brain. Then Staci crawls on top of her lap. Crycry giggles and blushes furiously to mirror the red cheeks of the man above her.  
“What’s going on?” she shyly asks her boyfriend. She’s pressed further into the hard concrete. She roars with laughter when she starts giving ticklish kisses on her neck and pulls on her hair. Her grin is gigantic, as her body shakes for the first time since seeing her youngest sibling eat an entire loaf of sweet bread from the grocery store. The trip her parents made them take on their way to drop Crycry off at the airport last summer.  
“I wasn’t worried, though,” Crycry confesses. The nepotism is blatant. And from her spot on her back, she pulls her boyfriend into a kiss again. “I knew you were still the same.”  
Staci leans into this moment. The intimacy. The love. It tastes so damn sweet. There are pine needles in both their hair. Tobacco in both their breath. Hands in each other’s. Eyes on the moonless, starry sky above.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again for reading!


End file.
